Have Faith
by Max Jive
Summary: Movieverse Helm's Deep Fic written for an improv challenge. This one wasn't hard at all. :D PG-13 for blood, guts, and thoughts about death.


Title: Have Faith  
Author: Max, the one and only.  
Fandom: LOTR. Movieverse.. sort of. Bits of canon in there too. It's a mix.   
Pairing: Completely innocent Aragorn/Haldir  
Rating: PG-13 for blood and guts, thoughts about death.  
Feedback: I love it, I love it, I want more of it!  
Disclaimer: Other people own them, I just play with them.  
Summary: What's in Haldir's head during Helm's Deep.   
Notes: Against The Clock Challenge proposed by a friend. A conversation in which someone says "Yes.. and no.", someone confesses something and somebody dies. No time limit.  
  
Haldir blinked the rain out of his eyes for the thousandth time that night it seemed, yet he could have sworn the rain had stopped falling. Perhaps it was sweat that clouded his eyes, or perhaps even the blood of his enemy.   
  
"Haldir, na barad!" Aragorn's voice floated past his ears amidst the growls, grunts, and screams of those fighting around him. Daring to glance up and away from the enemy, he briefly caught Aragorn's gaze and nodded in acknowledgement.   
  
Haldir's mission clear now, the Marchwarden spun, burying his blade deep into the midsection of and oncoming Uruk. Then he turned with a deft flick of his wrist, and another Orc's head flew from it's shoulders. His movements were controlled and smooth, almost robotic as his body took over, going into autopilot. Slash, duck, weave, stab- that sequence was repeated over and over without so much as a blink, Haldir's mind was occupied with other things.  
  
Orcs were made from Elves, he knew. Elves that were much like himself were lured away by the enchantment of Melkor and captured during the First Age of the Stars, taken into the Ainur's lair of Utumno. There he tortured and twisted their minds, making them mere shadows of what they once were, small sun-fearing creatures that would have served better as cannon-fodder than warriors. Then the Uruk-Hai were created, larger orcs who did not fear the sun, strong and brutal, modified by Sauron the Deceiver and Saruman in the Third Age.   
  
Whatever the origins of the enemy swarming around them now, they were nothing like their ancestors. They are cruel, jealous, petty, and selfish. They squabble frequently amongst themselves and it is said that they are never happy or at peace. Haldir briefly wondered if Orcs, like their Elf predecessors, were immortal. Though it seemed that an 'old Orc' would be an Orc that did its job badly. They had no purpose in Middle Earth except to hurt and destroy, and their carelessly throwing themselves into danger just to cause hurt to others often shortened their life span greatly.  
  
Haldir's musings were cut short as he was jolted back to reality by the feeling of something slicing his skin. He'd been careless, and an Orc blade had nicked his arm. The Marchwarden hissed and returned, sending a boot right into the Orc's stomach followed by the downward swing of his sword. Haldir muttered some Elvish curse, annoyed at his mind being brought back to this dreadful battle, and even more upset that he'd allowed his mind to leave the situation at all. Something flashed out of the corner of his eye, the glint of steel. He thought nothing of it, until there was the pain.   
  
At first he thought something had merely been knocked into him and he stumbled forward, the breath leaving his lungs. The Marchwarden blinked, and then the pain began. It shot down his spine and up to his neck, making his vision flash a hazy white briefly. He knew then he'd been wounded. Suddenly there was the feeling of being drawn back as the Orc wielding the axe yanked the weapon down and out, causing stars to flash before his eyes. Haldir gasped, the feeling of warm, wet stickiness flowed down his back, a dark stain spreading over the wine colored cape tied around his neck. As his next shaky breath left him, the world around him seemed to sway and tilt, he felt weak.   
  
"Haldir! No!"  
  
Someone was.. calling his name, he realized. Haldir blinked rapidly and sighed, his legs giving out from underneath him. To his suprise though, he did not hit the hard ground with a thud, but landed in the arms of another, and sank to the stone slowly. The Marchwarden blinked through the unshed tears he didn't know were there to see Aragorn cradling him to his chest with a forlorn look.  
  
"Haldir.." Aragorn frowned, shifting his grip to brush a stray clump of wet hair away from the 'Lorien elf's face. "Are you in pain, my friend?"   
  
Haldir stared at Aragorn so blankly for that question that Aragorn's brows furrowed, thinking maybe Haldir was more gone than he realized, until the 'Lorien elf let out a soft laugh and winced.   
  
"Yes.. and no, gwador" he said weakly, his fingers curling around Aragorn's arm to support himself. Aragorn gave a small smile at the name, for he was well known himself around Lothlorien, and as long as he could remember, Haldir was always a part of his visits. The Marchwarden was a both a brotherly figure and a mentor, always willing to lend kind words or share his not-so-kind thoughts when Aragorn slid off track. Haldir's mouth moved as if he had more to say, but the words wouldn't come forward.  
  
"Shh, you should not speak." Aragorn chided softly, placing a finger over Haldir's lips. "Rest, my friend. I will not leave you." he vowed.  
  
"You must get back to your people, Elessar. You will have to become their leader now in this time of despair. Do not waste your time on a fading Firstborn." Haldir's eyes while weak, shone brightly with his one last verbal jest with the Man.  
  
"Silence, haughty one. I am the king here." Aragorn raised an eyebrow playfully, but his sad smile betrayed his actions. "I do not know if I will find the strength to be what others of my bloodline were not." he confessed, and rubbed his thumb over the back of the fading elf's hand idly.  
  
"Estel," Haldir said thickly and shuddered. He paused, eye blinking as he realized for the first time in his long life he was cold. This is what passing into the Halls of Mandos feels like.. will it be an eternal cold?, he wondered and shuddered again at the thought.  
  
"Haldir?" Aragorn clutched his friend tighter, noting how the elf's exposed skin was turning an icy cold. He's leaving this world, the Man thought grimly.  
  
"Estel," Haldir began again. "Your name means hope. Never forget that, gwador." the Marchwarden smiled weakly and reached out, cupping Aragorn's cheek in his hand. "I have faith in you."   
  
Aragorn returned Haldir's fading smile and took the Marchwarden's hand between his own, as if to warm the elf's cold flesh. Haldir's eyes had turned to the sky, searching out the stars for one last look.   
  
Then, he was gone, the elven eyes stared vacantly into the night sky.   
Aragorn bent over the still form, pressing his lips to Haldir's forehead.   
  
"Onen i-estel Edain, u-chebin estel anim, gwador.."  
  
  
*na barad - "Retat to the Keep!"  
*gwador - "brother" not by blood but by association.  
*Onen i-estel Edain... - loosely "I have given the world hope, but I have left none for myself, brother." 


End file.
